In its playbill, "Violin(ce)" is described as a "movement exploration." And indeed, like a band of hardy explorers, the performers of Empty Spaces Theatre Co(llaborative) are fighting their way — literally — through tricky theatrical territory. Spoken word, aerial arts, stage combat, dance and silent-movie slapstick all are addressed in the fast-moving show.

But as with all adventures into unexplored landscapes, the payoffs are accompanied by pitfalls along the way.

"Violin(ce)" is a series of vignettes, all centered on an idea or depiction of violence, everything from sword fighting to group brawl to comic pratfalls. There's no linking story line (except the concept), and there are no identifiable characters.

Those facts don't preclude an emotional response from an audience — ask any fan of modern dance — but "Violin(ce)" only achieves an emotional connection in fits and starts. Interestingly, the most engrossing moments occur when the movement slows and words provide a break in the action.

In those sequences, three actors tell overlapping stories — stories without beginning or end, but stories that pull you in. Sometimes they deal with the internal fighting in our minds. Sometimes a common thread is revealed, as in one trio of tales that revolves around people hurt — physically and otherwise — in their childhoods.

The script is credited to co-director John DiDonna and the ensemble. In the spirit of Empty Spaces, there has been a preponderance of collaboration in devising the piece: Four people share directing credits; three choreographers are named. That may explain disjointedness between some of the scenes.

Gina Makarova's dynamic performance on an aerial hoop, for example, provides visual spectacle but feels pasted on to the show. Yet that illustrates a saving grace of "Violin(ce)": Even when it's less than emotionally involving, it's always visually interesting.

Fight director Bill Warriner has created a lighthearted brawl, if there is such a thing, among four poker players who suspect there's a cheater in their game. The men almost dance around the stage, hitting one then another, pairs and combos shifting. Equally fun is an old-fashioned duel with swords, comically carried out by Miles Berman and Corey Volence.

A much slower but equally successful scene sees Mila Makarova, hobbling with a cane, teach Berman some dance positions by twisting his body this way and that. Here, with a hint of comedy, "Violin(ce)" deftly marries visual and emotional engagement in depicting the teacher-pupil relationship.

Evocative video projections by Dana Mott and an eclectic soundtrack add an entertaining sheen to this experimental show in which the action doesn't always speak louder than the words.